


hello, again.

by Buttercup_ghost



Series: life reset button [1]
Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: 707 | Choi Luciel's Real Name, 707 | Choi Luciel's Route, Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Autistic Character, Background Relationships, Banter, Character Death, Complicated Relationships, Depression, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Genderfluid 707 | Choi Luciel, Genderfluid Character, Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mild Sexual Content, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Main Character (Mystic Messenger), One-Sided Attraction, One-Sided Relationship, Other, Past Relationship(s), Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Reset Theory (Mystic Messenger), Sexual Tension, Snapshots, Survivor Guilt, Teasing, Time Travel, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Zen | Ryu Hyun's Route, autistic main character, d do I still need to tag that spoiler?, everytime I write something sexual even if it’s just a lil I just. Die. I’m so embarrassed, its my real kink. The banter and teasing, jumin’s route seems kinda messed up, like it’s not mentioned/relevant (at least not yet) but it’s There
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-16 18:09:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21040532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buttercup_ghost/pseuds/Buttercup_ghost
Summary: Buttercup tries to navigate the self inflicted resets, through the guilt and shame and want of more. Sometimes, it’s enough.Sometimes, it isn’t..Or: snapshots of the moments in between, from the good, to the bad, to the funny.





	1. temporary nothing

**Author's Note:**

> _pop-pop-pop, pop up an error_  
_as cycling, spiraling gears halt up_  
_la la la, lock up the server_  
_it’s been far too long_  
_my heart, it feels heavy -_  
_tears flowing down my face_  
_force-quit and trasmit_  
_the crashing bitrate_  
_my mind, it feels restless -_  
_amassed by this virus_  
_is there a remedy..._  
_..for something like_ this _?_
> 
> // hello, again by VocaCircus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _His smile is a rueful little thing, shared with them like a secret. “I am, at heart, a selfish man.”_
> 
> [Mc has a talk with Jumin, one early winter morning, three years after their ‘first’ party.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick disclaimer: I’ve only seen bits of jumins route & heard a summary of it, as well as seen a retelling in a fanfic once. but wow seems whack
> 
> (the fanfic was :EXT by gooseweasel, you should go read it!)
> 
> anyways jumin han is in love with v I’m sorry I don’t make the rules cheritz told me themselves. sucks that he’s in love w both him and rika but it’s the truth 😔
> 
> (he is the ultimate disaster bi & I don’t take criticism)
> 
> on a more serious note: warnings for allusions to abuse, character death, mental illness, & depression, as well as time travel fuckery being discussed. Mc is not in a good mental state here, which is fair, considering; there’s also some depersonalization/derealization floating in there, for a Fun Cocktail of Issues (TM)
> 
> the main fic is still on chapter one, I’ve written almost 6,000 words... the prologue is LONG, jesus... needed a break from just the intro stuff so. post-zen route things, pre-jumin. There’s foreshadowing (by that I mean I hit you in the head) about it & what buttercup/mcs feelings will be regarding everything; I’m probably gonna play jumins route before like. writing the actual arc but this scene came to me & I couldn’t resist writing it.

It’s cold. Not a bone aching one, but simply one that nipped at their skin like phantom kisses, through their sweaters and gloves. A light dusting of snow crunches under their feet, and the sun burns a blinding white. The trees are bare, like their heart. 

Jumin sits, looking at the scenery. His brow is pinched, lips pressed. He looks sad. It’s an unfamiliar expression—it doesn’t spike fear in them, as they look on in worry. It doesn’t spike fear in them; not yet. Not now. It is before then, a clear filter.

They do not know the fear of his tangled strings, painted red, yet. It is not the loop for it.

It won’t be, for some time, now.

(They do not fear him. They will learn to.)

“V would have loved to photograph this.”

His voice is only slightly strangled, breezing out of him almost as easy as before, to his credit. But it is a tone they have never heard from him, before—it is as unfamiliar as his expression.

“You loved him,” they spoke, without conscious thought, to. They could see it on his face, in clear view, yet they ask anyways; “didn’t you?” 

He paused, considering.

“Maybe,” his breath is a lit on a breeze, “maybe.”

The word is as bare as the trees, and as hollow as the dead ones. It rings out around nothing.

The image feels hyper-realistic, like a painting. Like a _photo_. A snapshot of a moment, among the sands of time that bury them. 

They pause within it, finding their words. Their voice shakes more than his—more than the calm, sad acceptance that _ stings_, more than anything, that speaks of their failure. “If you could do it all again, try and find a way to save him…” they pause, stewing in their words, in the ache in their chest that reminds them of snow, the snow that crunches under them. The cold kisses them again, and it’s bitter. “If you could save him, would you?”

Jumin pauses. Turns towards them, considering. “I am a man of logic,” he says, and it isn’t really an answer. He doesn’t mean it to be one. 

It’s an enquiry, and after all these repeats, they know him well enough to know. “If you could go back… and save him, _try _to save him… but it would undo all that’s happened here, all this _good_, would you? Even if it was only a chance?” 

He hesitates, again, looking at them. A sigh flies by. “I like to consider myself a rational person,” he starts, before pausing. It’s the most uncertain they’ve seen him, that subtle shift in expression. “I like to say that I make choices based on logic, and not emotions. Emotions get you no where. They are foolish things, irrational. Feelings won’t change the reality of the situation.”

_ Feelings won’t change the fact that he was in love with her, and not me, _the pauses in his breaths say, and they hear what he dare not say, loud and clear, anyways. _Feelings won’t change the fact that she was the same._

“But?” They ask, high and considering.

“But.” He confirms. “_ But. _” 

His smile is a rueful little thing, shared with them like a secret. “I am, at heart, a selfish man.”

(They will learn how true that is, first hand, later. They will not hate him, despite it. They will only feel a painful twist, and fear. They will only feel sadness. They will only feel _lost_.)

His grey eyes are dark, as he looks at them. Stares through their bangs, into their wide, golden ones. Their classmates always thought their eyes were eery, scary; but looking into Jumin’s, into the storm brewing in them, they know those kids have never known true fearful captivation—never known the true intensity eyes could hold. “If I could go back, and save him—I would in a heartbeat.” 

They hesitate, with those words, with those eyes, their heart a jack-hammering little thing. But they do not dare look away; they do not dare flinch under the weight. If they did, they would drop it all—everything they’ve built, everything they’ve tried to do. “Even if it’s just a hope?” Their voice filters out, faint. Hardly even there at all—one tap, one twist of a mental dial, and everything would turn back to zero. They were hardly even there at all, too; only semi-permanent. 

“Even then,” he says, and he means it. They wish they could have such certainty, wishes they could mean it. It’s a glimpse of a man they would come to love—before falling out of it like an anvil, plummeting like a dead weight in their chest. “Even then,” he says now, as too distant futures fade out across the sky, and too distant pasts slam their heart against their rib cage, “even then, I would, without thought.” 

He _is_ selfish. Such a thing, is so horribly selfish, and they want to collapse, collapse against him in despair, into his arms and _weep. _Because they understand, acutely. They understand. It flashes across their eyelids like a sin; late nights with Yoosung, hot cocoa talks and smiles, shared at night like the marshmallows between—a treat for the two of them, and only them. Days spent at Jaehees coffee shop, perfecting the blends, laughing as the smell filled their nostrils—Jaehees hair getting longer, as they tugged it behind her ears, placed a kiss on her temple. _Zen_, a cup of tea to soothe them, his hair itching their nose as they clutched him close at night, their engagement bands shinning in the moonlight—his face under the moonlight, the first time he confided in them, and the secret they almost spilled, templated on their tongue, in that moment, like desperate begging. They can remember it so clearly; it’s been almost three years. (A year since they found Vs body now, too—just another cold case the cops don’t care enough to chase. Their fault, in the end. They know it, even if no one else does.) 

But Jumin is not Zen. Jumin is not Yoosung, or Jaehee, either; he is not their current love, or the lost ones they’re afraid they never stopped loving, even with the resets between them, a distance they can’t hope to breach.

And they love Zen. Their band glints in the burning white sun, as they shuffled their feet to hear that crunch, to ground them in this moment. They love Zen. (But they’re not sure it’s enough, not even sure what love it even is, when it all feels so muddled. And that’s why. That’s why, in this moment, they want to cry and scream and cling to this man, this man they can’t even remember _ liking_. But now, suddenly, it surges with a desperate need—the need for someone to _ understand. _ They will never get it. Not here. Not with this man, who looks out across the skyscape and thinks of V, instead of them. And maybe, one day, that will feel okay. But right now, it doesn’t. It only feels like a hopelessly broken thing, fragile and sharp.)

They do not move from their spot, asides from their shuffles. They do not go to him, like a cheesy romcom. Because is not a fairytale, and this is not fiction; they only listen as Jumin sighs, once more, wondering when their eyes closed against the muted, too vibrant colors. The oranges stick out, the black so contrasting, as the white blurs brown and grey into something indistinguishable. It is too much. It is not enough. 

They grit their teeth, and swallow it down, trying to make it feel okay. It tastes like ash. It tastes like the pills they hate but Zen begs them to take every morning, _ please, honey, I’m just worried about you. _They hate it; they want to punch something.

They don’t. Their clenched teeth ache. Their nails leave crescent moons on their palms, blood under their cracked, bitten down nails. They’re better now, that Zen stops them from that habit. They’re better now, better enough to break skin.

And they say nothing. Nothing about the loops unfolding past their eyelids. Nothing about the things only they know, tucked between their teeth, because their heart was overflowing. They only nod, pry their jaws open, and grit.

“What if he had to love someone else, to survive?” It feels like metal lodged between their toe nails. 

He snorts, bitter and rue filled. “Even then.”

They jolt, suddenly, remembering; _Rika._ It’s almost funny, that for a split second, they forgot. They can’t find it in them to smile, at it, like him—that painful lit of his lips. It’s an almost role reversal, their expressionless face, forcefully smooth. Jumin was right; emotions were illogical, only getting in the way. They lock them back up in their heart, chain them to their rib cage. Just for now. It is only temporary—like them, like all of this, like everything will always be, suspended in their odd, anti-permanence. 

“I guess so,” they said, the same tone as that _ maybe; _a funny little thing, in it’s tragedy. “I guess so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _feelings, oh feelings, you tear me apart_  
_and I wish I could start again, again._  
  
// temporary nothing by mxmtoon


	2. scary love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _They could see their kisses and hickies running down his frame; the little love bites they refrained from biting, once more, as they breathed on them. Saeyoung shivered, and without their input, their finger had begun to run down his spine, making constellations from their marks._
> 
> [Mc and Saeyoung, in the aftermath of sex.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah, yes, my real kink: playful teasing and love/appreciation 
> 
> OKAY FOR REAL, this is kinda embarrassing, but mostly just some bittersweet fluff and banter. Of course there’s sexual stuff implied but. It’s more about the Banter and Love™ than the sex stuff (though it’s fun/funny to write jokes about it kfbfken) though there is still some sexual tension, just bc Mc likes to tease.
> 
> SO warnings for: very very brief allusion to abuse & self harm, like it’s just a mention of seven having scars, mental health issues, skipping taking your meds, and of course implied sexual stuff & tension. Again, also mentions of time fuckery, bc that’s a big part of Mcs life. 
> 
> As for actually sexual things: mentioned foot kink in a negative light, boot kink mentioned, implied maid kink, hickies, slllight praise kink? & implied,,, lm so sorry implied coming in pants IM SO SORRY GOD 
> 
> I’m not gonna say crossdressing kink bc clothes don’t inherently belong to one gender or the other, and it feels kinda gross to call it a crossdressing kink? Another thing is!!! My Saeyoung is actually!!! Genderfluid!!! Hell yeah!!!! It’s not mentioned here but like. It’s There™ 
> 
> Another thing to note (I’m not quite sure it’s relevant but??) is that my Mc is autistic, so I guess whenever they’re like. ‘This is Bad bc I say so’ it’s almost like a sensory thing? It’s not super prominent I don’t think but ! Just thought I should mention it.
> 
> Also! I didn’t know how to end this and you can probably tell! I’m also,, kinda unsure about my characterization but. Well, it’s mostly just lighthearted stuff post-everything, so. I think it’s okay considering??
> 
> Anyways I love Saeyoung so much and in this essay I will,

Saeyoung breathed, heavy and labored as he laid. Besides him, Mc did the same, unevened, shallow breaths, laced with the giggles they’d release, once in a while. “You’re so cute, Saeyoung,” they said, once their lungs stopped heaving, only a little bit breathy. It wasn’t fair, how easily they seemingly recovered, even though he knew their heart was pounding an hour a minute. Still, on shaking arms, they propped themselves up, looking down at him with something like adoration. It was darkened with something else, still, even as tiredness showed through.

Their finger reached out, light on his thigh. It moved, idly, up and down, stretching from the span of his boxers, to the top of his laced stockings. “So beautiful,” they murmured, “If you were really my maid, we’d never get anything cleaned.” Amused, they blow a laugh, before their golden, moltened eyes flickered up to study his face. He flushed, under the gaze, and from the quirk of their lips, they knew. “My sweet, cute Saeyoung,” they spoke, words affection dripped, “you’re just too irresistible, it’s not fair.”

Saeyoung forcefully swallowed, steadying his previously calming breaths. “Wow, already, honey? We just went at it!”

Suddenly, a spark of mischief. “Maybe so.”

Saeyoung stilled, completely, slightly incredulous. “Did you just… meme at me? _ Right after sex?_”

They answered with a Cheshire grin. “PERHAPS.”

Saeyoungs eyes closed, breath rushed out. “You are a cruel, cruel person, winding me up like that.” Because they knew what they were doing to him. They loved to tease.

They grinned wider. “Sorry, honey!”

“You don’t sound very sorry.”

They laughed, “No no, no I am! Really!”

Saeyoungs own grin threatened to break out. He schooled his expression into disappointment. It made them laugh harder. “No, no, I’m really-” they said between gasps, “I’m really sorry!”

“Are you? Show me.” Mc went still, for a moment, looking at him. Their grin broke through, though, and they gazed at him in a way they knew sparked heat. Slowly, they moved downwards, to the top of his shoes. Heels, high and sharp, their eyes still dilated slightly at the sight. Their lips pressed a kiss to the toe, eyes flickering up to meet his, never once breaking their contact. Saeyoung felt his face go red, again, masks breaking without thought. “Hrg, Mc?!” They laughed again, soft and breathless, before pulling away. They smiled more at his pout. “Really, you should have expected that.” They teased.

Saeyoung glared, briefly, without any real heat. “Adorable,” Mc declared in return. Saeyoung pouted harder, before losing the battle to laugher.

“I,” he tried, before another giggle escaped helplessly, “I didn’t know you were into _ feet_, Buttercup.”

Their nose wrinkled, face crinkling into disgust. It was their turn to pout, as he laughed at them. “Adorable,” he repeated their own words to them, cheekily. They glared, longer than he had, but with the same amount of real anger—none. “I’ll cut you,” they threatened, and Saeyoung giggled again. They huffed. “If you weren’t so pretty, I swear.”

“You know you love me,” he teased, even as his heart jackrabbited.

They huffed even harder, then pouted at him. “You’re right but you shouldn’t say it.”

He lost it at that, laughing even as an faux-murderous aura enveloped them. “Watch it, pretty boy.” He just laughed harder, eyes tearing up from lack of breath.

“Y-you–” he sucked in another gulp, “oh my god, _ Mc._”

Huffing once more, they ignored his sputtering, going back to the topic at hand— or, as it were, at _ feet _. “I am not into feet. They’re gross.”

Finally raining in his laugher, Saeyoung looked at them dubiously. “You literally just kissed mine.” He bit his lip to stifle another grin, at their pouty face. 

“No, that’s _ different.” _

“Because it’s me?” Okay, so he was still going to be at least a _ bit _ cheeky. It was who he was; he grew into it, in the years of pretending. He wondered when it exactly happened. He wondered if he minded it.

“_No_,” they glared, “because feet are _ gross. _Shoes are less gross.”

He blinked. “Okay. _ How?” _

“They just are. Shoes are sexy - mainly boots and heels, honestly - but feet are not.” They nodded to themselves, affirming their logic. 

“O…kay?” He rolled with the punches, picking his battles. They nodded; wise choice, Saeyoung.

Shoes are sexy. Feet are not. It is so, because Mc declared it.

“_Oh!” _ They yelped, suddenly, before shifting over him, glancing at him apologetically. “We started joking, so I forgot…” They glanced forlornly at where his boxers peaked through his dress. “I need to clean that up.” 

He hummed, glancing at them. “You don’t have to. I can do it.” Their figure was slightly blurry over him, and he reached for his glasses, from where they fell amists his laugher.

“No,” Mc said, something hard, non negotiable in their voice, “I can do it. I want to take care of you.”

He paused from where he was positioning his glasses, suddenly pink. “Oh,” he said, blinking, eyes shifting to their face.

Buttercup smiled softly above him. “Beautiful,” they murmured again, but this time it seemed like they didn’t realize they did it. His face pinkened further, his gold eyes catching their own.

It was foreign, and he settled back down into laying, his face pleasantly warm. They smiled at him, pleased and fond. Their expression twisted a bit, into something teasing, “Good boy.”

He flushed further, despite himself, and they blinked in realization, before they smirked. He could groan; he knew he was going to get teased, later.

But apparently, not right now. Mc left it at a knowing smirk, before shifting their attention back to their task. They pried off his boxers, before flushing at the mess. “Oh, oh jeez..” they whispered to themselves, face red. 

“Oh~?” He grinned. “Getting embarrassed, now? You did this, you know.”

Their eyes dilated, just a touch, mouth parting, tongue just slightly darting out. His own mouth grew just a bit more dry, at it. “J-Jeez, your libido, Mc,” He laughed, instead. They smiled at him, placid.

They didn’t do anything else, though, like he thought they might. With the garment out of the way, they wrinkled their nose, instead. “Where did I put the towels?” They mumbled to themselves. His eyebrows raised. “Oh? So you _ planned _ this?”

They smirked again, in response, all teeth. “Of course.”

He gulped—they have to stop doing this, really. He’s going to have a heart attack, at this point. 

“I love seeing you make a mess of yourself.”

..._ Really. _Really, he was going to have a heart attack.

“I thought this was Aftercare Time™?” He croaked.

They hummed. “It is. You’re just too fun to tease.” Their expression was far too innocent for what they were doing to him. “Aha! There the towels are.”

Quietly, they cleaned him up, humming a tune, unaffected. “There,” they breathed.

Moving downwards, they frowned. Gently, they pried off his heels. “Where did you even _ get _these? I know we don’t own any like them.” 

“Bought them to match the outfit.” 

They snorted. “Of course. You couldn’t use any of your other shoes, you needed it to _ match_. You’re so theatrical, you know that?” 

He grinned at that, “Guilty as charged.”

Slowly, they peeled off his socks, now that his shoes were gone, carefully placing them to the side. They glared at his thighs, groaning. “Whyyyyyy do you have to be so _ pretty. _ It’s not _ fair.” _

“You’re prettier than I am.”

They gasped, as if he’s offended them. “Slanderous. Don’t just lie to my face. Honestly, it’s like you don’t own a mirror, have you no _ taste_?”

Finally, both socks were off, and they stare at his bare legs, now. He squirmed a bit, resisting the urge to cover any scars. Mc huffed, “_ Beautiful_.” Again, it came out offended. He couldn’t help but smile at it.

They paused at the maid dress, unsure where to start. They shrugged, reaching for the apron hanging off of him. It was a bit messed up, from before, so it was easy to finish removing it, after untwisting the ribbons. They hovered over Saeyoung, as they both breathed, before they moved to set it by the stockings. The actual dress hung loose, from where they started to unzip it, before. 

“Turn around,” they ordered gently, voice soft. Saeyoung did so without a word, breathless.

They could see their kisses and hickies running down his frame; the little love bites they refrained from biting, once more, as they breathed on them. Saeyoung shivered, and without their input, their finger had begun to run down his spine, making constellations from their marks. Slowly, their lips came closer to them, hovering for a moment, before brushing, feather light; little kisses on top of them. There was something intimate about the moment, something that made their insides feel sweet and tender, like mush. “I love you, Saeyoung,” they say, tears gathering in their eyes. The feeling swallows their chest whole, as shaking fingers continue to move the zipper down, to wear their lips didn’t touch in their frantic bites, before. They continue to trail kisses, anyways, now, breath hitching, stuttering around the weight of this emotion, “I love you.”

They think they’ve always loved him, from the beginning. They just didn’t realize it, then.

“I love you, too, Mc,” Saeyoung replied, once more breathless. They know he means it, after everything. Knows this is something real.

Their fingers continued their work, ever shaky. Peeled away the dress, softly. Finally, Saeyoung was stripped bare. It felt a little like this moment; like this light, burning in their chest, like this love.

They hope, desperately, that it doesn’t disappear from their sight. They couldn’t take it. 

A sob breaks free, as their forehead rested along his spine, trembling. Their hands fumbled back to grasp their chin, cover their lips and stuff down their cries, stifle this - hurt. It doesn’t work, and Saeyoung shuffles, restless. He’s heard. “Mc?”

His voice is too gentle for them, suddenly, this whole image—too gentle, too intimate, too _ sweet_. They don’t deserve it, and such knowledge makes it hurt. Makes such kindness hurt, such happy and light moments, such dense and comforting pauses. It hurts. It all hurts.

“Did you… take your meds, today?” He asks, voice hesitant, and they could almost laugh—so they do, hysterical, helpless. So _ helpless_, this emotion, that makes them fall. They hated the loss of control he instilled, but they loved _him_, all the same.

Their laugher was answer enough, though, and he breathed, steadily. They both knew it was on purpose, forced. Knew he dutifully controlled it. He responded when their laughs turned to sobs and their sobs turned to silence, still so soft, too soft for them. “You need to take them. They’ll make you feel better.”

He had turned towards them, somewhere, in all this. It was almost comical, that serious, worried face, with no clothes on, except for a maids band, lopsided on his head. They wanted to card their fingers through his hair. 

“They won’t. They never do.” They look at him through their eye lashes, through their bangs designed to cover them, golden eyes wide and sincere. “You make me feel better, though.”

He sighed, reaching forward, pulling them into his arms, cradling. “Do I?”

“Yes.” They frowned, “Of course you do, Saeyoung.”

“Then why…” he paused, carefully, “why do you always get sad, when you’re tender?”

Panic seized, somewhere vague and far off, confusion in the forefront, making their eyebrows crease. “I’m not _ sad,_” They denied, ignoring how it tasted like a half truth on their tongue, ash and dust and unsaid things, “I _love_ you.”

“Then are your tears happy?”

They paused, considering. “Yes.”

They really are. Happy, that is.

It was almost scary how much they loved him, for no other reason except it was so _much_, it was overwhelming. “I think I’m happy, for the first time in a long time, when I’m with you.” _ That's **why** it hurts. _

They could never have anything happy, anything they _loved_, for long. Their own decisions prevented it.

But still. They didn’t ever want to leave Saeyoung. Not ever, not in a million years—if things went on like this, it’d be perfect. They think, even, that it would be _ enough_. Enough in a way no one else was; they fit together like puzzle pieces.

They didn’t ever want to _ reset._

But the Not-Rika ghost haunts their dream, still. Another dead wish of a frankensteined soul. Every night, it was the same.

They wished they didn’t have to sleep.

They folded themselves back into Saeyoungs hold, pressing against his frame. Something desperate flooded their chest, and they _needed_ him to understand, needed him to _know_, “I _love you._”

It almost sounded like a plea.

(Maybe it was one.)

His chest shook against them in a breath, and they didn’t mention his own tears, as he choked out; “I love you, too.”

It was as overwhelming to him, as it was them. They pressed even closer, and he felt—_loved_.

Even after years together, it felt foreign, to him.

It felt foreign to them, too.

They both breathed it, against each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _move to the city with me_  
_i don't wanna be alone,_  
_don’t wanna be alone_  
_you’re too pretty for me_  
_baby, i know, it's true, yeah_  
_even better when you first wake up_  
_than anybody else i’ve fucked_  
_baby, i got good luck with you_  
_i didn't know we'd get so far_  
_and it's only the start_  
  
// scary love, by the neighborhood


End file.
